Clumsy
by Robin-n-Hoodie
Summary: Sterek! Derek has Stiles 'trippin', 'stumblin', 'flippin', 'fumblin', 'slippin', 'tumblin', 'sinkin', 'fumblin', Clumsy 'cause he's falling in love !


**Hey! This is a fic based of a Sterek vid I made, the link is on my profile. Check it out~! ^_^ OH, and if you're wondering about my username Lito-Arumi was awesome and allowed me to use it because it just...it's so cool it works so great for me. **

**Anywho, this first chapter is merely like a...premise? is that it? a setup? Anywho, most of the chapters will be unrelated oneshots about Stiles being "Clumsy" due to his realization that he's in love with Derek. I mean, the kid's already spazzy, how do you think he'd react to a relationship with a deadly werewolf? lol The chapter titles go along with the song. Anyway, I hope you like~!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing~!**

oO()Oo

Derek exploded through Stiles bedroom door, expression stoney, eyes gleaming with burning animosity. He could hear the inescapable idiotic laughter bubbling up behind him and it taunted the brute-like ferocity prowling through his veins, caused him to snarl. He flung himself down on Stiles' bed and sat rigidly upright, claws unsheathed and digging into the threadbare, neo-cleaned sheets, breathing with fervor, lavishly attempting to keep the animal in him blanketed with Scott's instructions _not_ to kill the brat. And he tried desperately to block out the noise.

But goddamnit, _Stiles_ was the noise. Not even a deaf person could completely elude the audio onslaught unscathed.

Stiles ascended the stairs painfully lethargic. _Step. Step. Pause to howl with laughter. Step. Laughter. Step. Step. Trip. Fall. New unneccessary laughter- _his slues of chuckles and gasping shifted provoking Derek to realize his air column was compromised. Also, a new sound: the slight ruffle of clothing sliding against the mahogany steps. Which meant...

Stiles was literally reduced to _crawling_.

Derek gnashed his teeth together, canines peircing flesh, and hissed out. "IT'S. NOT. FUNNY." He plucked ravenously at the loose strands of his tattered shirt and cringed when his indignant comment earned the irking sound of the cackling of a doped up hyena. "STILES, SHUT THE HELL UP!" He ripped his short off- what infintesmal remains there were left of it- and flung it to the floor.

Stiles finally, reluctantly reached the door and slumped against the solid wood in a fit of breathless snickers. He swayed from the force of his bouyant laughter on the threshold, partially silhouetted by the stark lighting from the hallway. His face was literally glowing with amused delight, cheeks tear stained, his mouth stretched in a monolithic grin and he was probably about to be slaughtered for this crap, but he honestly couldn't help it(he could probably blame the abundance of Adderal cruising his veins). "Ah, come on, boy," he panted out, earning a viscious glare for his trouble, but he didn't seem to mind. "You gotta admit, it was pretty damn adorable the way she...she...taha!" he chuckled again, listing pitifully to starboard, and crumpling to the floor.

Derek muttered darkly to himself glaring venemously through the blackened window, clinging to his last morsel of humanity. His knee bounced up and down in agitated jerks as he fought to procastinate the metamorphosis boiling just under his skin. Meanwhile, the tiny claw marks marring his chest and arms slowly began to heal...

Stiles was so gonna pay for this shit.

Said teen sobered, reluctantly, reminiscing as he watched Derek trying not to flip shit. He didn't fully grasp the concept of why things went down the way they did. All it had been was a harmless interaction with the neighbor's cat...Frothy. She...well, the poor thing was held captive by an evil tree, and Stiles only wanted to help her down.

But, of course, there was Derek, right beside him. And then the cat went rabid, and Derek went rabid, and then the neighbors began to call the cops prompting Derek to flee and Stiles to apologise profusely to the McLachlans through his manic laughing. Finally, they had resolved to not press charges albeit confoundedly, for they didn't understand how Stiles found amusement in any part of the bizzare event.

The cat had been insane but Derek wasn't _entirely_ blameless for the comedy of errors the attempted exploit had spiraled into. Because...

"Well," he finally said, and at last without a giggle as a punctuation mark, "you shouldn't be a werewolf. Things like this wouldn't happen."

The wolf turned his head to jab him with a murderous expression. For a smart guy, Stiles really was slow on the uptake at times. Like now, for instance. Didn't he realize, Derek was about to exsanguinate him?

"Oh, come on, Scooby," it seemed like a suitably descriptive nickname at the time, but in hindsight, and in the noting of Derek's very perceptive snarling at the name- the Scooby thing was probably the worst idea to ever infiltrate his mind. "You can't blame me for what non-my cat did! I can't help it if little Frothy from my neighbor's backyard kicked your little werewolf ass, I _can't_," he flailed his arms comically in order to (somehow) accentuate his point. "It's literally impossible for it to be _my_ fault."

"Why didn't we just go through the front door?" Derek spoke through his teeth, hostile, trying to keep his rising temper down. "Your dad isn't even home, Stiles. We could've avoided this altogether."

Stiles frowned. "What? But that wouldn't have served my purposes nearly as well."

"_What_ purposes?"

"The humiliating you ones."

_Fuck this shit._

The color in Derek's face drained in a fit of wide-eyed apoplexy and for the first time in...like and hour, Stiles wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

In a melee of snarling and white hot animal bursting energy, Derek lunged twisted and in some weird form of werewolf matrix had Stiles pinned beneath him on the bed.

"Ah!" Stiles squeaked out like the bleat of a frightened animal and immediately covered his eyes with his hands in blind panic, curling his body up instinctively, and Derek was instantly struck by the...cuteness of it? What the hell? Stiles wasn't cute, he was an irritable smartass with twitchy bumble bee-like equilibrium. But It was like a freaking switch being flipped, a spark being blown; the wolf had fallen back on it's haunches, lowered it's head to the ground, lost its desire to maim.

All Derek could think as he stared wide eyed now was: _He's a baby raccoon._

Whereas all Stile could think was: _I'mma die, i'mma die, oh god, i'm so hungry, i'm gonna die on an empty stomach, oh god, oh god._

Derek blinked multiple times and watched him hyperventalate.

The pall of silence which bared itself then was oppressively heavy, so heavy, Stiles felt like air was cement, and that cement came in forms of monolithic buildings that consisted of infinite rooms and floors, and said buildings were on fire torturing his burning lungs.

Alas, no final move was made to sever his head from his body, no sudden flash of red, no rapier sharp teeth mangling his body, and Stiles, after a pregnant moment, felt his heart stumble to a start again.

Gradually, he lowered his hands only to have them _thwack_ hard into Derek's solid chest. Scared beyond his normal standards -'cuase Derek was_ right there, _a mere _two inches _from his face- he instantly gasped, "Aw, no! Uh..uh..uh," he took his hands off, and his eyes burned luminous with fear. "Oh, God! OKay, look. W-would..." he wormed uncomfortably under Derek's hold, "would it make any difference if I said..." _ah, fuck_, _here goes._ "...that I was sorry?" And there went his pride. He rolled his eyes and flung his hands out in a bout of petulance, adding in a rush on one breath, "sorry for something I didn't do, but..." he shrugged, looking tinier than normal, his voice shrinking as well. "would it?"

A baby raccon, a pygmy. Stiles was a friggin' pygmy.

Derek stared at him, unwavering, the heat in his eyes slowly transitioning to a warm glow. And to the other's tremendous relief, he relaxed, his muscles uncoiling, and by doing so, his body lowering slightly, the slightest brush of his bare chest against Stiles.

Stiles shuddered slightly as a tingle of anticipation skittered through him like icy fingers up his spine. His back wanted to arch, but he smashed it back into the bed with all of the strength he could muster, which still wasn't at its normal peak yet. "Um,...i'm sorry," he mumbled his ears burning pink, all other rationality going out the window. All he knew were the words "i'm sorry", now his only words, his mantra. "I'm...I'm sorry, Derek. I'm sorry, i'm sorry," he whispered continuously.

Derek held his eyes captive for a prolonged moment before something shifted in his eyes, the smallest flicker of acceptance. He nodded, and Stiles felt the tremendous pressure off his chest. Oh, and also, Derek's chest off his chest which...wasn't...all that much pressure, really. Well, it was, but like a...god help him, a _nice _pressure.

Derek sat back and with him went a source of radiating heat that, sadly, Stiles already missed. But he grinned as if he hadn't just been aroused. "Good boy."

Derek leaned back over him, putting his mouth to his ear and Stiles shivered, felt a delicious flutter of sensation run through him and he couldn't help it. His traitor, which was his back, arched. His breath hitched. _I'm a dumbass... _He closed his eyes in finality.

Derek paused.

_Oh, God..._

"Stiles," said Derek softly, "i'm running out of patience here." Although it was soft, the slithering undercurrent of his growl was there, pulsing, waiting for Stiles to make another remark. "You stop with the nicknames, or," he raked his teeth against Stiles' ear which really shouldn't have been sexy considering it was a death threat,"It'll happen."

"I hope you mean 'us' and not 'death'," Stiles breathed.

Derek leaned back so suddenly, he nearly tumbled off the bed, the hand still resting on Stiles arm clenched. "WHAT?"

Stiles opened his eyes wide. "Er...you know... _us_, like...like...what's going...on...here?" his voice faltered with each word, his face paled, and he was pretty sure if Derek didn't kill him, his panicking would. In either scenario, dying was bad so he took a deep breath to fortify himself.

Derek was frowning, his head tilting to the side.

Stiles flapped one of his hands as he floundered for a way to get around this without dying. _"_Us and our," he looked down, fingers twitching skittishly, fisting nervously into the sheet coddling his back. Derek knew. He had to know. Why'd he have to explain it? "Our...unparalleled togetherness,"he blurted. He made a face as he tasted the words on his lips for the first time and swallowed a laugh as Derek fumbled for a non-amused expression. Well... all of the other alternatives... they just all seemed a little...unorthodox. ("going out"- they were NOT going out, where'd that even come from? Maybe..."hanging out?"- Stiles had a hard time composing it so that "Derek" and the words "hanging out" fit in the same context, "Crushing"?- Oh God, he was _not_ an obssessed tween. Plus, he's pretty sure Derek would decapitate him for even _thinking_ of thinking of thinking about the word. _No_. Just..._no_.)

Finally, with the courage to look up, Stiles did so guardedly. He blinked. _Huh..._

Derek was staring off at something else, but the frown vanished and thoughtfulness lightened his features. "Us," he said sharply.

Stiles nodded firmly, "us."

Derek looked at him then, suddenly, causing Stiles to flinch. The wolf narrowed his eyes. "...us?"

"Us."

"Us?"

"Oh, my god, Derek, YES!" he flung his arms out in frustration.

Derek laughed. Actually _Laughed. _He shook his head and leaned back, stood, and picked up his ratty black t-shirt. When his eyes captured Stiles' again he just stared. Stood and stared.

And the word just hung in the air. It might have been a freaky deaky telepathic consensus or there might have just been an echo. But it made the room feel so much lighter:

_YES._

_oO()Oo_

**And here we go~! If you have any clumsy-scenario requests feel free to let me know~! ^^**


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